


Neither Here Nor There

by sidium



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1216042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidium/pseuds/sidium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce never anticipated feeling torn between two worlds. Stay or go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neither Here Nor There

Bruce sits on the uppermost balcony of Stark Tower. The outer precipice of the balcony contains Tony’s suit tech, blending in seamlessly into the floor, and normally, Bruce would be interested in that. He’d be fascinated with the ingenius tech grafted into the house, making it almost an organic being; complete with personality and voice. But that’s normally. For some reason, today’s not normal.

Today, he stares out at the miles of city laid out before him. It’s a shockingly clear day for New York, barely any smog to cloud the view. Which seems fair, as the sky above the city is nothing but dreary grey clouds. Bruce watches the snow fall from them, collecting ever-so-slowly on the balcony around him, swirling in small vortexes when the wind blows just right. Bruce barely finds it more interesting than Tony’s tech. He tucks his hands into his coat and stares out. 

He wishes he could pinpoint down exactly what happened. Why everything just seemed to collapse in on him today. Maybe it was the weather. Cold, grey day is enough to bring anyone down. Maybe it was lack of sleep; he’s never been much of an insomniac before, but lately trying to sleep has been more of a chore than an escape. Maybe it was the news program he’d left on his TV earlier as he sorted through books in his living room. Another outbreak of illness in a distant country. Poverty stricken people dying from preventable illnesses. 

If Bruce is totally honest, he’ll admit it’s a combination of all three. But right now, that’s between him, the snow, and the deep feeling of exhaustion and dread looming in his chest. 

He’s so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he doesn’t hear the door open, doesn’t see Steve out of his peripheral vision; so he’s surprised when a warm mug is pressed into his stomach. His hands come out of his pockets to grab it before his brain even registers what it is. The warmth feels good against his hands, and the smell of the contents inform him that it’s tea; earl grey. His favorite. He turns to look at the person who’s joined him. 

Steve’s sitting next to him, casually sipping on his own mug, like he’s been there the whole time.  
Bruce stares down into his mug and sighs. Minutes pass by. He doesn’t look up, nor does he drink. 

“So, normally, I’d ask why we’re sitting up here; but I kinda get the feeling you don’t wanna talk.” Steve says, and Bruce gives a slight nod. The dull warmth of the mug in his hands starts to irritate him, so he sets it to the side and shoves his hands back into his pockets. “Instead,” Steve continues, “I’m just going to ask if you’re okay.”

A beat passes, neither of them moves. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, and Bruce isn’t looking at him, but he can hear the head-tilt in Steve’s voice, like a concerned puppy. 

“I don’t even know anymore.” Bruce answers, the honesty of his answer bleeding through in the quietness of his voice. 

“Okay.” Steve says, simply. He doesn’t keep talking, but Bruce feels him shift, move over enough to lean against Bruce, just a little. 

The snow has started to collect now, maybe a centimeter deep around them, and Bruce pushes down a shiver. 

“It’s guilt, I think.” He finally says after a long moment, not looking away from the horizon. 

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, gently. 

Bruce gives a frustrated little sigh. “I left.” 

Steve doesn’t ask because they both know the question lingering in the air. A few minutes pass before Bruce forces out the words.

“Calcutta.” Bruce finally says, “I left Calcutta.”

“And that’s bad?” Steve asks, tentatively, as though navigating a verbal minefield. 

“I was helping people.” Bruce says, “It was awful, and dirty, and everything stereotypical about a third-world country, but I was doing something.” His chest feels heavy, and his whole body feels tired. 

“You’re helping people here, aren’t you?” Steve asks, “I saw that thing you and Tony were working on in the lab. The water filter thing?” 

Bruce nods. He had Tony help him with the finer points of engineering, but together they’d created a portable water filter. Cheap to make, easily accessible and could filter 98% of germs out of any water source. It was a huge success. But still…

“Yeah, I’m not saying I’m useless here, but…” Bruce pauses, trying to figure out how to say this, “It’s hard to believe you’re making a difference when you’re working in one of the most expensive buildings in the world, with every luxury at your fingertips.”

“You want to go back?” Steve asks, quietly. Bruce sighs, feeling every day his age, and maybe a few years more. 

“I don’t know.” He closes his eyes and rubs them with the heels of his hands. Steve sets his own forgotten cup down, and pulls Bruce closer. Bruce doesn’t fight, just rests his head on Steve’s collarbone and sighs. “What do I do?” He says, so quietly, it’s almost a whisper. 

Steve lays a hand across the back of Bruce’s neck and holds him. The dread in his chest ebbs away a little at the contact. “You think.” Steve says simply. “Don’t listen to anyone else, don’t worry about anyone else. You did good there, and you do good here. It’s where you want to be that matters.”

“You saying you don’t want me around?” Bruce half-heartedly jokes. Steve doesn’t miss the underlying sincerity. 

“Not at all,” Steve assures him, “You know everyone here considers you a friend. We’d hate to see you go, but you need to decide what’s right for you. Not us.”

Bruce’s stomach twists at the thought of leaving, saying good-bye to people he actually considers almost-family, leaving _Steve_ ; and he knows he really is helping with the work he and Tony do, but his chest aches at the thought of staying. Living in luxury while the people he wants to help live in poverty seems like the greatest hypocrisy of all. 

“Can I stay right here,” Bruce asks quietly, his hands coming up to grab handfuls of Steve’s coat as though he were about to leave, “just a little longer?”

Steve moves just enough to press a gentle kiss on Bruce’s temple and whisper, “Of course.”

Snow keeps falling, undisturbed around them. They don’t notice.


End file.
